Two Out of Three: Loki
by LoveVegas77
Summary: The God of Mischief storms into the wrong bar. Part Two of "Two Out of Three," which was an OUAT/The Heat crossover with Captain Hook/Det. Shannon Mullins. Rated for language and some innuendo. Because the bad boys just can't stay away...


Disclaimer: I own nada.

Mullins exhaled deeply before throwing back the first shot, swallowing hard and slapping the glass onto the bar. "Another," she muttered loudly, motioning to the bartender. Eyeing her warily, he refilled her glass.

"Hey, Mullins. Trolling for your next victim?" A gray-bearded older man seated a few stools away flashed her a gap-toothed grin.

She shot him a moody glare. "Trolling for an ass-whooping, Rin-Tin-Tin? Why doncha crawl back to your kennel before I put some more gaps in your piehole!" The man snorted and slid off the seat, shuffling away unsteadily. The detective downed the second shot and stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the rows of bottles.

"This is redemption night," she muttered to herself. "No surprises, no drinking games, no Depeche Mode rejects." She motioned to the bartender again. " _Definitely_ no Depeche Mode." As she prepared for another shot, the door to the bar swung open with a loud bang. The sudden noise made her spill the contents of her glass. "Shit," she muttered, shaking the drops off her fingers.

"Kneel! All of you!"

Frowning, Mullins turned slowly in her seat at the sound of the forceful male voice. A tall, dark-haired, strangely costumed man stood in the doorway, pointing a long golden spear menacingly. She groaned and rolled her eyes in disbelief. _What the hell is this, Punk'd?!_ she thought.

The man stepped inside and raised the spear. "I said _kneel_!" he yelled, aiming it towards a party of four in a booth.

"Hey! World of Warcraft! Comic-Con was three months ago!" Mullins shouted. Derisive snickering rippled through the room.

The man's head snapped in her direction. Lowering the spear, he slowly stalked towards her. Fixing her with an icy glare, he said, "I should skewer you with my scepter for your insolence."

She snorted. "Well, aren't you two pounds of chocolate! How much fangirl tail you get with that line?" There was more chuckling, which appeared to greatly anger the man.

He stood over her threateningly, a strand of raven-dark hair falling in front of his face. "You are beneath me!"

"You sure don't waste any time. Shouldn't we get to know each other first?" Mullins quipped, giving him a disdainful onceover. She shifted in her seat and glared up at the man. "Actually, your little dog-and-pony-show entrance made me spill my drink, and if there's anything I don't like wasting, it's alcohol. So I can either proceed to pulverize you into Star Trek sludge in front of these good people, or you can turn around and prance your way back to sci-fi fantasy whoredom. Choose wisely." She flashed a grim, wan smile.

The man's expression shifted, and his blue (or green?) eyes regarded her curiously. "You have

spirit."

She narrowed her eyes and clenched her fist. "You have five seconds."

The pale eyes flicked over to her empty glass, smirking. "Stirred to violence over a bit of drink?" He was actually _smirking_. And his accent was definitely English, she finally realized.

"Yeah, and it ain't cheap, especially on a cop's salary," she sneered. "But I'd pay big money to douse you with an entire bottle of Patron and watch you morph into Little Debbie offering me a snack cake! Cuz you're so delicate you would faint from the fumes!" She motioned towards the door. "So why don't you take your pansy ass and your disco stick and get the f-"

"I propose a third option." The man stepped aside and seated himself at the stool next to her.

Mullins blinked rapidly a few times. "Are you as deaf as you are stupid?! Make like a tree before this gets worse. _For you_."

The man faced her, smirking again. "If you were truly to make good on your threats you would have done so by now. So pay attention," he said with a dismissive wave.

Her eyes blazed and she lifted her index finger. " _Nobody_ tells me to pay attention, peckerwood-"

"You have dared to hurl all manner of insults my way, you brazen wench, not to mention insinuating that I am somehow unable to hold my drink," he hissed, leaning forward with a piercing glare. "So these are my terms..."

Her blood began to boil. "You're cruisin' for a bruisin', Twilight-"

"Clearly you are a woman of grit, who prides herself on imbibing with the skill to match even the most devout practitioner, therefore we shall see if you can make good on that boast." Without taking his eyes off her, he commanded, "A glass." The bartender hesitantly approached where they were sitting. When the man shot him a deadly stare, he quickly put a glass in front of him.

Mullins waved her hand vigorously. "Oh, hell no, no you don't! I'm not doin' no drinking contest, especially with another costumed loon!"

The man narrowed his eyes. "State your objections."

"Well, first of all, it would be too easy a win. I mean," she paused, gesturing towards him. "At best, you probably have one of those grapefruit seabreezes or some fluffy shit like that every once in a while, so this stuff would practically neuter you." She nodded her head towards the bottle of whiskey she'd started earlier. "Not that there'd be much to neuter," she added with a dubious grimace.

"And...?"

"And the last time I participated in a drinking game, there was...a hook...and rum...and waking up the next morning with guyliner on the sheets and not remembering how it got there," she muttered, rolling her eyes skyward.

The smirk reappeared. "In other words, you lost."

"No, you mental defective, I _did not_ lose!" she spat, leaning forward. "It took a little more imbibing than I'm used to is all. But I wouldn't have to worry about that in this case," she added with a derisive chuckle. "Because, in this case, you'll be lucky to still have gonads after the first shot! And by the second," she chuckled again, "you'll be down for the count."

The man snorted with disdain. "Your meager earthly libations pale in comparison with what is consumed in my world."

Now she snorted. "You are _really_ taking this role-playing shit seriously, aren't you?"

"In my world, a mere drop of the least potent elixir would steal the very breath from you, make your teeth but ashes in your mouth, and rage throughout your members as a consuming fire."

She frowned dismissively. "Shouldn't you be out on a balcony somewhere?"

He peered at her expectantly. "Are those your only objections?"

She rolled her eyes. "The fact that you're still sitting here is one big objection. Go take the intergalactic freak party somewhere else." She turned away and motioned to the bartender.

"Giving up quite easily for someone boasting so much skill. Perhaps you overestimate your abilities," the man remarked with obvious self-satisfaction.

Mullins' head turned slowly and tilted sideways, fixing him with deadly intent. "I think you underestimate my ability to flip your candy-ass inside out," she growled.

He thought for a moment. "If I allow you to choose the terms, will you consent?"

She eyed him suspiciously and straightened. "Why the hell are you so interested?"

He gave a slight shrug. "Curiosity. I've encountered many humans and the vast majority did not have the audacity to challenge me as you have so carelessly done. Even the few who challenged me in might did not possess such reckless fearlessness."

She smirked. "Well, curiosity killed the cat, bubba."

The pale eyes glittered. "Perhaps that should be a part of the terms." The dark head tilted. "What say you?"

She made an amused sound. "You may want to hear the rest of my terms before signing on the

dotted line."

He blinked. "Name them."

She examined her gloved fingers. "Well, _when_ I win, I not only get to mop the floor with your candy ass, afterwards you're going to do your little stripper stroll outta here without causing any more trouble." She pointed towards the door.

The man flashed a lopsided grin. "I cannot promise to comply once I am outside this building."

"You'd have to be a total moron to think you'd get away with anything. Boston P.D. don't play."

He placed an elbow on the bar and leaned forward. "I have an army."

She did likewise. "I have an _armory_. In my fridge. You didn't hear that from me," she countered with a smug smirk.

He smiled indulgently. "What are the terms if I win?"

"Not that you're gonna," she began. "You get to waltz outta here without causing any more trouble, _sans_ being reduced to Star Trek sludge by yours truly." She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "So what say you to that?"

The man laughed low in his throat. "Quite merciful for someone who claims to be anything but."

She glared at him as she rose from her seat. "Yeah well, it's your lucky day, string bean, I happen to be in a good mood." She reached across the bar and grabbed the whiskey bottle. "Put it on my tab," she barked when the bartender shot her a look.

"Fortunate indeed." He observed with mild detached interest as Mullins poured his first shot.

"So, you got a name? Or does Little Debbie work for 'ya?"

He glanced at her sidelong. "I am Loki. Of Asgard."

She laughed derisively. "Okey-dokey, Mr. Loki," she mocked, pushing the shot towards him. "I've already had two, so we're gonna even things up first." She sat back and watched with a smirk as he gulped the first shot quickly. She laughed again as he blinked a few times, though his stoic expression did not change.

"If this is all that is to be consumed, I rather like my odds," Loki remarked with satisfaction as she poured the second shot.

"Ohhh, this is lemonade compared to the hard-core crap comin' up," Mullins replied. "You're at the adults table, now, string bean, no more sippy cups for you," she added with a gleeful chuckle as he downed the second shot. This time he did not blink, but it was obvious it took more of an

effort to keep from doing so.

He looked at her challengingly. "Now the fun begins."

She poured them each a third shot. "All aboard the pain train," she said with a mirthless smile, lifting her glass and watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"May its ultimate destruction be glorious," Loki replied, laughing before they simultaneously kicked back the shot.

Mullins pursed her lips together briefly against the burn of the alcohol, then shot him an odd look. "You're a real...special slice of strange pie, aren't 'ya?"

Loki's grin was wickedly mischievous. "You have no idea."

A.N.: Decided to pick this up again, the idea of this wacky pairing was too irresistible. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
